


tiger on a leash

by triplesalto



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Broken Taboos, F/M, Femdom, Implied/referenced past Master/Doctor, Self-cest, Taboo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2018-12-02 20:39:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11517033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triplesalto/pseuds/triplesalto
Summary: The Master takes orders from no one. But he takes orders from her.





	tiger on a leash

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amyfortuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/gifts).



Missy remembers when she was this Master.

The drums have gone, and his eyes are no longer as wild as she remembers feeling, when her head throbbed to that never-ceasing pulse. But drums or no drums, the rage still simmers under his skin, the wildfire that threatens to burn anyone who ventures too close. He is the opposite of safe; he is danger incarnate, an inferno suspended and ready to flare.

Missy has always been someone who pokes tigers.

She shoves him against a wall, body to body, and feels the tension in his muscles, the coiled strength about to spring. She meets his eyes, unwavering, and knows that he could put his hands around her throat as easy as breathing. She knows he knows she could gut him the next second; they are a matched pair of knives, the two of them, lethally sharp.

Downstairs the Doctor is puttering around, reassuring the humans, talking to the Cyberman he persists in calling Bill. The Master finds it disgusting. Missy used to find it disgusting too, the Doctor and his pets, his saviour complex as wide as Time herself. Now she is impatient, wanting the Doctor's attention back on her, away from the ephemeral lives of humans and back to their age-old battle that she calls a friendship. (What else could you call it?)

The Master stirs under her, tentative flexing of strength. She shows her teeth, and feels his arousal against her. That regeneration had always been self-absorbed; she should have guessed that he would quicken to her. She remembers putting their face on all the humans in the world, and laughs, soundless.

“Missy,” her younger self says, not trying to get away, “there’s a perfectly good bed over there.”

She rubs her thigh against his trousers, watching the bob of his throat. “I don’t remember if I was very good at satisfying women. Are you worth it?”

He grins. There’s a predator in his eyes, but she intends to be the mistress here. “I can be.”

One of the first rules you learn at the Time Academy is to avoid crossing your own timestream if at all possible, and, if unavoidable, to strictly limit your contact to the necessities. _I know what you’re all thinking_ , their instructor had said, because youth on any planet are much the same. _And no, it’s a very bad idea. Taboo, in fact._

Missy doesn’t believe in taboos.

“Really?” she says, and leans in to kiss him, one hand at his throat, ungentle and sure.

When she draws back, he is breathing hard, eyes flashing, and his lip is bleeding. For good reason: she bit it. His tongue flickers out to lick the blood, and he smiles.

Missy lets him go and walks backward to the bed, sinking back onto it with consummate grace. She cants one knee to the side, her petticoats pooling around her, and raises her eyebrows at him. “Come here.”

The Master takes orders from no one. But he takes orders from her.

She pushes his head down, unceremonious, peremptory, and he submits to the command. He closes his eyes and nips the inside of her hip, grinning when she sucks in a hasty breath. He is beautiful like this, between her legs; he is a tiger on a leash, her leash, and the fire that burns in him is close enough to burn her. 

His mouth on her makes her pulses quicken. Arousal, yes, but it’s more than that – every cell in her body is screaming at her, shouting warnings. This is wrong, this is wrong, they should never be touching this much, let alone like this. She loves it. Wait until he fucks her – if she lets him, if she doesn’t make him come in his trousers, if she doesn’t drink in his frustrated embarrassment and laugh in his face. If this feels this deliciously wrong, wait until there’s a possibility of pregnancy. All space and time will shriek, and she will dance on the wind.

They should torment the Doctor with this. If he saw them, he would turn colours so beautifully. He might even come over to try to pry them apart, his natural discomfort be damned. She would enjoy that. Let her younger self smile, wet-mouthed, into the Doctor’s face, and she would laugh to see the Doctor cringe. 

There are times when she imagines the Doctor kneeling between her legs like this. It has been a lonely few decades in her prison vault. For all that she outright refused Clara’s insinuation that she and the Doctor are _in love_ \- how limited – that never meant their friendship does not include lust. They were boys together, once upon a time. Their history spans millennia, time and space and countless worlds. She has had him in her bed before – not recently, but what is recent to a Time Lady?

“I can hear you thinking about him,” the Master says. His fingers will leave bruises on her thighs. She likes the idea, a tangible reminder of the broken taboo, hiding just under her petticoats. 

She runs a nail down his cheek, letting it scratch. “Then make me stop.”

This breathing space can’t last. The Cybermen will be coming for them soon. 

But while it does, Missy will enjoy every single second.

When she comes, she throws back her head and shrieks a theatrical shriek loud enough to wake the dead. It’s a parody, a performance, a pantomime of release, and the Master is laughing between her legs, because they are one, they know each other, and the same things make their hearts pound the faster. They don’t need the affronted time energy that fizzes between them to feel their connection, though it adds a final frisson. 

There are hurried steps on the stair, and the Master leans his head against her thigh, his eyes glittering. She lets hers glitter back in shared effrontery, the taboo singing between them like a song.

Then she assumes a studied air of mocking nonchalance, just as the Doctor bursts through the door. 

“Why hellooooo there,” she says, drawing the words out, as the Master laughs. “Do close your mouth. It makes you look positively human.”

There is a tiger in her bed and an oncoming storm standing in her doorway, and Missy has never felt more alive. 

She smiles.

~


End file.
